


forgiveness

by kay_emm_gee



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Makeup Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9511013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: "Three days of silence, and then Rhys was gone. It had been a stupid fight, over something small; Feyre was too embarrassed about the insignificance of the reason to even bother to recall what it was. Somehow it had turned into an avalanche of angry words and raised voices. Then the next morning, the silence came, on both their parts. It wore heavier on her as the days passed, an overbearing swath of stubbornness and pride. Nothing broke through until she came back to the house in Velaris on the third afternoon and found his note and not him."Written forFeyrhys Fanfictionas a prompt fill for Anonymous: ‘Can you write a prompt Feysand about them having a fight and they make up in a week?’





	1. Chapter 1

Three days of silence, and then Rhys was gone. It had been a stupid fight, over something small; Feyre was too embarrassed about the insignificance of the reason to even bother to recall what it was. Somehow it had turned into an avalanche of angry words and raised voices. Then the next morning, the silence came, on both their parts. It wore heavier on her as the days passed, an overbearing swath of stubbornness and pride. Nothing broke through until she came back to the house in Velaris on the third afternoon and found his note and not him.

It told her that he would be back at the end of the week. That was it. Nothing more, just his signature. She brushed her thumb over the elegant scrawl before crumpling the paper in her hand. Fury and confusion warred within her. He had just _left_ , with only one sentence of explanation, and her chest squeezed with irritation. Still, it wasn’t like him at all to abandon a fight. It was what she loved about him, that he would face problems head-on, not shying away from what was difficult or painful. This didn’t seem like him at all.

A small flicker of concern kindled, but she extinguished it. Through their bond, she could feel that he was not in any danger. He said he would be back in a week, and though she was still angry, she also still trusted him to keep his word.

* * *

Feyre made it until the last day before she convinced herself how ridiculous this entire situation was. Her anger had long since abated, and now she felt only worry and annoyance at Rhys for making her worry. So she dressed warmly, packed a bag with provisions, and set off into the woods outside of Velaris.

She reached the cabin just as the sun was setting. Two days ago was when she had finally realized where he had gone; she should have realized sooner, really, if she was being honest. Striding up to the door with purpose, Feyre raised a hand to knock. Hesitation struck her, and her fist hovered. She swallowed, breathed, and then finally tapped it lightly against the wood. When there was no answer, she knocked harder several times. Frowning, Feyre cast off the rest of her doubts and reached for the knob to let herself inside.

The cabin was empty when she entered, and she let sighed in disappointment. She was sure Rhys would be here. Tired from her hike and from missing him, she left her things in pile by the door before sitting on the couch. She leaned back and watched the light from the setting sun turn the cabin from yellow to gold to orange to red to navy. Her eyelids grew heavy, and soon enough they fluttered shut.

* * *

When Feyre woke, she opened her eyes to Rhys sitting in the chair across from her. He was still wearing his outdoor gear, and his hair was windswept, as if he had been flying. Her hands itched to run through the tousled mess, and she occupied them by rubbing the sleep from her eyes instead.

As she straightened up, yawning, he said, “You found me.”

“You weren’t very good at hiding,” she replied, a bit sharply.

His voice was quiet as he said, “I wasn’t hiding.”

Feyre just arched a brow at him, and he had the decency to nod his head in concession.

“Why?” she asked, just as quiet.

Rhys struggled for a bit, before he leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees and head bowed, and said, “We fought over nothing, Feyre.”

“That happens,” she said slowly. “And it started as nothing, but obviously there were other things–”

“I know. But,” he paused, breathing deeply. “My father, he–this is how it started, the fighting between him and my mother.”

Understanding washed over Feyre. She scooted forward to the edge of her seat, feeling herself pulled towards her mate.

He continued, “He would blow up over nothing, and so would she, and before long, they weren’t even talking, because anytime they would, it would just–”

“ _Rhys_ ,” she said firmly. He let out a shaky breath, and she said his name again. “Look at me.”

He glanced up, tentatively. Feyre stood and walked over, cupping his face in her hands. “You are not your father.”

He closed his eyes and pursed his lips as if to protest, and Feyre stroked her thumbs over his cheeks. “You are _not_. And I am not your mother. We will fight, over big things, over nothing. We may scream, we may cry, we may not talk for a few days. But we will always come back to each other, because we love each other. Not because we’re mates, but because I am me and you are you.”

Almost immediately she could feel the tension leave his jaw. She smiled a bit when his hands came to rest on her hips lightly. They moved together slowly, and Feyre leaned down to kiss him softly.

“I love you,” she whispered against his lips. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, and I love you, too,” Rhys rumbled as he pulled her into his lap.

His arms came around her as she straddled him, and she nestled her face into the crook of his neck. As darkness fell around them, they just stayed there, wrapped up in each other, and finally for the first time in a week, Feyre could breathe easy.


	2. good morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said: ‘hey so I just read that fanfic for “feyre and rhys fight and make up in a week” and I was expecting it to end in fluff but it didn’t and i’m sad bc my mind won’t stop thinking about feyrhys growing apart like rhys’ parents did and it’s making me too sad to do anything so can you please write something nice? and fluffy? like spending a lazy morning in bed together (feat. shoulder+forehead kisses and maybe reading together) or anything else cute and sweet and otp worthy? this is ur fault; pls fix’

The morning after they made up, Feyre woke to spirals being drawn onto her back. She shivered in the crisp morning air and curled into the blanket that was still covering the front of her. Cold, wet trails from Rhys’ fingertips swirling short, thick streaks of–paint, she realized groggily–across her shoulder blades and down her spine made her grumble.

“Where did you find that?”

He chuckled, poking her lightly. “You’re running out of secret stashes.”

“I wouldn’t need secret stashes, or be running out of them, if you would stop stealing them to paint on me while I’m sleeping,” she muttered. While her voice was thick with sleep, Rhys’ wasn’t. She wondered how long he had been up, if he had gone out for a flight, if he had stayed in and watched her sleep instead. Feyre was too tired to actually ask, though, so she just let out a little groan as Rhys continued to trace wet shapes across her back.

While it wasn’t the most economical use of her paint supplies, it was soothing so she didn’t ask him to stop. The way his fingers moved across her skin with surety, familiarity, but not rhyme or reason hypnotized her. Pale morning sunlight danced across the walls of the cabin as she dozed in and out, the only thing grounding her to reality being Rhys’ touch. She was almost back asleep when he suddenly pressed his entire palm against her back. It no doubt ruined all his efforts, but he didn’t seem to care. As she expected–they had done this before, after all–he turned his hand to slide it around her side, over her stomach. Palming her middle, Rhys pulled her back into him, and the paint made a slight squelching noise as her skin met his bare front.

He nuzzled her neck slowly, and she fought a forming smile.

“I’m sleeping,” she mumbled.

In protest, he nipped her shoulder. “No, you’re not.”

“I’m trying.”

Rhys let out a quiet laugh, which was cut off quickly when she suddenly arched so that her bottom was pressing right against his hardened length. A grin escaped her when he just held her tighter, and she wiggled her butt a bit when he didn’t do more.

“Rhys,” she drawled.

“What?”

She arched her head around to look at him. He just cocked an eyebrow, seemingly nonchalant. Pursing her lips a bit, she mockingly scolded, “If you woke me up for this, you better finish what you started.”

“What did I start?” he taunted. “I just wanted to cuddle.”

Feyre snorted, turned back around, and then put her hand over his. Smoothly, she guided his paint-smeared hand straight up her stomach, over her sternum, between her breasts until it rested in the middle of her chest. She curled her fingers, so that they interlocked with his, briefly before loosening her grip. “There, I gave you a head start.”

“We’re going to make a mess,” he protested, but she could hear the smile in his voice.

“You’re the one that got the paints out, so you’re the one who is going to have to tell Mor we ruined another set of her favorite sheets.”

Feyre felt Rhys’ chest rumble with laughter against her back before he said, “I think I can handle my cousin.”

“As long as she doesn’t sic Az on you.”

“That would require both of them admitting they have something going on.”

A long sigh escaped Feyre, one that made Rhys laugh again and drum his fingers against her collarbone. The soft taps sent a thrill through her, but she refocused and responded, “We’re going to have to do something about that. They’re taking too long to figure each other out.”

“Where was this impatience when you were figuring us out?”

Scoffing, Feyre hit his shin with her heel. “Not the same thing. And I may have taken a while to figure ‘us’ out, but you’re the one who’s taking too damn long this morning to–”

Feyre let out a yelp as Rhys managed to roll over and flip her on top of him at the same time. With her hands planted on the mattress just above his shoulders, she glared down at him. He simply grinned up at her, so very pleased with himself. Wrinkling her nose, she swiped some paint off his chest and thumbed it across his cheek.

“There are better ways to spread that paint around,” he said in a low voice.

Feyre rolled her eyes, but her gut–and further south–clenched at the words anyways. After a moment of him tracing circles on her hips, she leaned down, her mouth a breath away from his, and whispered, “Then how about you show me?”

Rhys surged up and captured her mouth in a deep kiss, one that pulled her closer and down and further into the riptide that was her mate. And, for most of the morning, he did indeed show her how to make a colorful mess–on the sheets, against the wall, even on the kitchen table. Feyre managed to add in splashes in her own new places too, and in the lazy, happy haze afterwards, as she looked around at the newly decorated cabin, she grinned at the thought that the morning after might almost be worth any fight.

Almost–but not quite.

As the sun reached its peak in the sky, Feyre burrowed into Rhys’ chest, smiling contentedly as she drifted back to sleep.


End file.
